


I want to feel (like a hostage)

by commissions (so_psychso)



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast), The Mechanisms (Band)
Genre: Bruises, Dom/sub, Hair-pulling, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Slaughter!Jonny d'Ville, Trans Male Character, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-04
Updated: 2020-06-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:02:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24544312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/so_psychso/pseuds/commissions
Summary: Sometimes, Gerry just needs to get out of his own head.
Relationships: Jonny d'Ville/Gerard Keay
Comments: 11
Kudos: 145





	I want to feel (like a hostage)

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is a commission.
> 
> If you want to request something, please feel free to shoot a message over to my [tumblr](https://master-fiber.tumblr.com/)!

He’s on his knees, because it’s the only place for him. The best place—what he deserves, what he’s _earned_. Or so he’s been told. Whispered and cajoled to, grabbed and kissed and bitten and bruised and bloodied, moaning with each blossom of pain that’s painted up and down his neck, the small of his back, his arse and the insides of his thighs, all dark purple against his pale flesh.

No, not _his_ flesh. He doesn’t belong to himself in these moments. Blessedly, _beautifully_ , he is not his own, not beholden to the burdens and stricture of _self._ All of that’s taken away, wrenched free to make room for something else— _someone_ else, that beastly, violent presence he never expected. Not then, not now. Not again. 

Because theirs seemed an encounter content to singularity, a culmination of crossed paths and vicious, _good_ sex. Something like that doesn’t deign to make itself available twice over.

And yet, he’s on his knees. Because the violent stranger found him again. 

And last time he’d been d’Ville, but now he’s Jonny, a comparatively docile name for one so inclined to bloodshed, but the little morsel of information found its way between their clashing teeth, and Gerry had laughed, and Jonny had carved into his shoulder with wicked canines, and that had been that.

And now he’s on his knees—in his flat, because their odds are spectacular, sure, but Jonny found it easier to just come knocking—and Gerry’s gazing up at the man, drinking in pure malice as he anchors his hands on Jonny’s thighs, trembling and naked, but he knows. He knows how this is going to go. Jonny gets his first. It’s only fair. After last time, after all the ways he lavished Gerry (and has already done so) it’s only fair.

In fact, it’s the only goddamn thing Gerry wants, and he can’t get Jonny’s trousers down fast enough.

“Eager, are we?” Jonny breathes.

“You have no fucking idea,” Gerry mutters, and whines as Jonny wastes no more of their time on petty questions, just anchors his fingers in Gerry’s hair till tears prick his periphery, and Gerry surges forwards, sucking hungrily at the head of Jonny’s cock.

“ _Fuck_ I missed that mouth of yours,” Jonny groans, letting his head fall back against the wall with a _thunk_.

It’s an inordinately pleasing sound, and Gerry demonstrates his satisfaction with a low, resonant hum that has Jonny tightening his grip, hips stuttering.

Last time, Gerry hadn’t quite proven exactly how good he is at this, and so spares no discomfort on his behalf, letting his jaw hang slack as he relaxes his throat to let Jonny thrust inside, deeper and deeper, till all Gerry can feel is the thick heat of him so heavy and full, it’s a miracle he doesn’t pass out.

The stinging sharpness of Jonny’s nails in his scalp ground him, as does the ache in his knees and between his legs. Errantly, he brings a shaking hand there, if only to stave off a second of relief, but Jonny is far too observant (especially for a man with his cock halfway down someone’s windpipe.)

“Never let it be said,” he threatens, yanking Gerry’s head back by the roots of his hair, and glaring down at him, “that I don’t take care of my partners.”

“Th’s not—” Gerry starts, but Jonny’s having none of it, tugging harshly at the fistful of hair once more, inspiring quite a different noise of penance from Gerry, altogether.

“Over the couch,” Jonny says coldly, once Gerry’s refitted his bearings, but it’s only enough to feel a heavy pang of regret that he went and ruined what was shaping up to be a really fucking good blowjob.

“Please,” he says hoarsely, and manages to arc forward, just enough to get his lips to the underside of Jonny’s cock, and that seems to subdue the man, somewhat, Jonny shivering slightly as Gerry worries the sensitive flesh with his tongue.

“Want you,” he continues dazedly, mesmerized by the various points of contact and sensation all around him.

Red in his knees, his scalp; nightshade blue and purple where Jonny’s mouth has claimed him; swarms of cottony orange in his head; flushed, indecent pink where his tongue gives itself over to be used, where his cunt throbs, aching to be fucked and filled. 

It’s all a bit… profound, or perhaps that’s because Gerry’s not had a decent fuck in months, so it’s not too much of a disappointment when Jonny doesn’t reply, just keeps staring him down like a disobedient dog. Though neither does he order Gerry again, which the latter takes for consent, and redoubles his efforts, as much lavishing Jonny’s cock with saliva and clever scrapes of teeth as he does restrain himself from taking too much too quickly. 

He wants this to last. He wants to be _good._

Until—“Stop,”—the order given some indeterminate time later, and Gerry pulls off Jonny’s cock with a wet pop and a rough cough, his throat pleasantly raw, another point of pain to keep him here.

“Stay,” comes the next command, and he does, maintaining exactly the same position that Jonny interrupted.

Mouth half lolling open, eyes heavy-lidded, body shuddering with _want._

And he stays on his knees, watching Jonny take himself in hand. Watches the steady strokes the man administers, bringing himself to climax till long streaks of cum coat his fist and Gerry’s face. 

And Gerry doesn’t move, doesn’t even blink, just basks in a strange liminal reverence as he obeys, as he endures, as he _relishes_ how _good_ it is to be used.

When he regroups, coming back to himself from a haze of unawareness, Jonny’s kneeling, too. So close Gerry could kiss him, but the moment doesn’t feel right for that.

“Now,” Jonny says, soft as a whetted blade, “let me see that pretty cunt of yours.”

And suddenly his hand is between Gerry’s legs, fingers tracing through slickness, flicking and teasing and squeezing and slipping in in _in_ , because he’s been good, because he’s _earned_ this. 

And he’s on his knees, legs spread like it’s his profession as Jonny curls three fingers inside him, thumb working his cock.

“Just like that,” Jonny purrs, anchoring his other hand at the nape of Gerry’s neck as Gerry grinds down to meet the delicious pressure and building heat.

He comes far more sweetly than their company should inspire, though the teeth Jonny gets back around his neck clarifies reality a bit better. Closing his eyes, he rides the crest of pleasure till it dips down to pain, and he weathers that all the same, because the entity he’s chosen to find his absolution in does not deserve to have his nature thwarted for something as banal as politesse.

“There we are.”

It’s far off, Jonny’s voice, even as Gerry pitches forward and rests his forehead on the man’s shoulder. It isn’t kind, the embrace Gerry finds himself in, or doting or soothing or anything that could help him come down properly, but he doesn’t mind. 

Because it’s good not to have attachments or expectations beyond anything save that which Jonny presents to him. Cold, brutal, amazing as fuck in the sack, and even better at avoiding the pretenses of “post-coital glow” or whatever.

It’s exactly what Gerry needs.

And so when Jonny clears his throat and gives him a little shove, he falls back easily, grinning

“So, about the couch,” Jonny says. 

And there is such wickedness in his eyes, lips, teeth. And what else can Gerry do but comply? What else is there but to give himself over again and again and again.

And so, he does. 

And it is so, very _good._


End file.
